


Dances of the Souls

by Izupie



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: (but Eddie swears like a sailor too), Aged-Up Losers Club (IT), Alternate Universe - College/University, Demon Hunters, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier-centric, F/M, M/M, Rated T for Trashmouth, Richie Tozier is a Little Shit, Soul Bond, Soulmates, essentially it's just a soulmate AU with added demon slaying, the soul eater AU nobody asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:54:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22592872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izupie/pseuds/Izupie
Summary: Eddie Kaspbrak has always had trouble connecting with other people, or more specifically, their souls.Richie Tozier has been hiding away from his own for so long he doesn't even know what it's like to know himself anymore.The DWMA are a group of special colleges that teach its students to hunt and kill demons. The Derry Branch is especially busy - the creepy town of Derry is unusually infested with them... Eddie figured fighting demons was better than confronting his inner ones, so here he is. It's just a shame  he's been out of luck so far finding anyone who can connect with his soul at all to be his demon fighting Weapon partner.But there has to be someone out there that'll match his soul wavelength? Right?(Can broken souls fix each other?)
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak & Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 15
Kudos: 40





	Dances of the Souls

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so this is really heckin self-indulgent. I meant to write a drabble based on the inspiration [this great art](https://shyjet.tumblr.com/post/189118336217/context-soul-eater-au) of a Soul Eater AU gave me, but 11,000 words later here I am. eyyyy.
> 
> Soulmate AUs have always been my jam and getting to write this one with a Soul Eater twist was so so much fun. You don't need to have seen Soul Eater to understand this (hopefully) but it'll make you go 'oh yeah, that's a reference' if you have, and that's always a neat feeling right? I've actually kind of cherry-picked my favourite parts of the SE lore and universe and ditched or changed other parts, so maybe it's best if you haven't seen Soul Eater before...  
> (I had to age them all up because I literally couldn't find a way to explain why anyone would think it was a good idea to make high school students fight demons.)
> 
> Chapter titles will all be from the song 'You and Me' by James TW - specifically because [this Reddie video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lpEuyz9eJcI) makes me want to cry about it.
> 
> oh and trigger warnings for scary demon description, mild description of injuries, and Richie throws up, but it's not graphic.
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy this thing that has consumed my thoughts for the past month and let me know what you think

Eddie knows that it’s all going to go horribly wrong the moment he grips his fists tightly around the red-hot axe handle of his Weapon partner and feels the weight of it pulling on his arms. To his increasing frustration the heat from the metal is making his palms sweaty and the heavy axe begins to slide out of his grip as he heaves it up into a ready stance.

 _“Eddie!”_ The voice inside his head is shrill, tinny and distant sounding – like he hasn’t quite tuned into the radio correctly – and it rings with accusation and petulance. _“I thought you said you were going to start working out so you could lift me properly!”_

Eddie winces and huffs. He’d said that right after their most disastrous training session when he hadn’t even managed to bring the axe upright, but the reality of it was that they both knew it wouldn’t help anyway. There wasn’t a set of weight training in the world that would help a Meister lift a Demon Weapon that their soul didn’t connect with.

“I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t so _heavy!_ ” Eddie snaps back, muscles straining.

The soul connection between them is so poor that he barely makes out the offended gasp of his current partner, Myra, even when the sound of it is inside his own head. He can hear the sniggers of the other students around the room though, and he thinks he sees a reflection of her wide blue eyes in the surface of the axe-head before he hears a whistle blow to signal that the training session has begun. With all the effort Eddie can muster into his small body he attempts to swing the Demon Weapon towards the first wooden target that springs up from the training room floor, but Myra’s Weapon form is getting increasingly heavier and hotter and all at once it both burns his palms and drops from his hands like a stone.

Eddie shakes his hands frantically in the air and blows on them to cool them down while he chants a string of curses under his breath. “Shit – ow – fuck fuck – what the hell Myra?” He can hear how high his voice has gotten and is becoming increasingly aware of the whispers and scornful looks they’re getting from the other students.

The axe on the floor glows and loses its shape. The white light swirls and stretches higher and higher until it fades and there is a human girl standing in the axe’s place. She looks incredibly pissed off; her chubby cheeks are stained a blotchy red and the entirety of her short, squat body is vibrating with rage.

Eddie considers that, on reflection, for a girl who was often teased about her weight, yelling about her being heavy in front of all their classmates was probably a poor decision on his part. Even if it had nothing to do with her physical weight at all.

“You,” Myra hisses through clenched teeth, poking a chubby finger at his chest, “are the _worst_ Weapons Meister in this college. My friends told me I was crazy to partner up with you. Just how many failed partnerships have you even had now?”

“Fuck you, Myra,” Eddie snaps back, clenching his fists by his side.

There’s laughter around the room and Eddie lifts his chin with a scowl, glaring at the other students. Shouldn’t college students be above this kind of shit? This isn’t any of their business. So what if he struggles to find someone who his soul can connect with? It’s not his fault.

_(Is it?)_

Myra makes a disgusted sound at the back of her throat as her eyes fill up with tears and Eddie wrinkles his nose. _Oh Jesus._ He cannot handle crying girls.

“You’ll- you’ll never find anyone to be your Weapon! Because nobody’s _ever_ going to partner up with someone who’s soul is- is _broken!_ ” she spits, whirling on her heels and fleeing the training room.

Eddie’s eyes widen and his breath hitches in his throat.

The door slams behind her and the room is deathly silent.

 _‘Fuck you!’_ he wants to say.

( _‘I’m not broken!’_ he really wants to say.)

But the other students are staring and laughing even harder and Eddie feels his chest tightening as he looks around at their faces. He grips the fabric of his shirt.

He tries to suck in a breath, but he can’t.

He can’t _breathe_.

He’s finally about to yell at them all to _shut the fuck up_ , when the strong commanding voice of their teacher silences the room instantly as he claps his hands and says, “Okay, students. That’s enough. The show’s over. Take a seat Mr. Kaspbrak and I’ll speak to you after class.” But there’s no real energy in his inflection, and he gives off the air of a man who doesn’t really care.

Eddie’s hand relaxes from its death-grip on his shirt as he finally takes a deep, rattling breath. He exhales and says, “Yes, sir.”

Walking to the chairs at the back of the training room is humiliating. Each step echoes in the silence that the fight with his own Weapon partner – ex-partner, he corrects himself – has left behind. His boots are unforgivingly loud as they pound against well-worn wood, until he finally drops heavily into an uncomfortable plastic chair, and the rest of the class eventually return their attention to their training. He sees a few of them look over at him and whisper in each other’s ears, and Eddie deliberately looks down at the ground; shame and anger burning hot through his veins.

He sighs deeply as he tries to calm down, hating the way that his legs are a fraction too short to reach the ground comfortably in these chairs. Seriously, they install motorised targets into the floor, but they can’t get decent sized chairs for the students to sit on? He knows he’s a little on the short side, but he’s not _that_ short. Average height, he would say. And, what, they make them as deliberately uncomfortable as possible? Students aren’t allowed to sit in comfortable chairs?

At least he’s left alone to wallow in his irritation and misery, and Eddie makes sure to pointedly keep his eyes from wondering back to his classmates. He doesn’t want to watch them all training and getting stronger. He doesn’t want another reminder of how abnormal it is to have gone through this many partners without finding anyone that connects with his soul on any kind of level.

(Maybe he is broken…)

A particularly loud chorus of gasps draws Eddie’s attention back to the group before he can stop himself, and he sees a blasting inferno of red flames engulfing one of the targets. The entire room goes red and the fire is so hot and bright that he shields his eyes and clenches them shut. But when he looks back the fire is gone, and so is one of the targets. It’s disintegrated entirely into a smoking pile of black ash on the floor. Nothing else in the room looks remotely charred and the heat has disappeared as quickly as it came. Eddie can hear more whispers rippling around the room as he notices that the student standing beside the ash pile, wiping sweat from his forehead, is the new guy that got transferred into their class a few days ago. He’s as chubby as Myra, Eddie thinks, but there’s something about his expression that doesn’t resemble Myra at all; his cheeks are flushed with pride and his smile is wide and sincere.

Casually held in one of his hands, as if it weighs nothing at all, is the biggest gun Eddie has ever seen – it has a long thin nozzle with a red metal tank attached to the bottom of it. Even without taking Weapon Studies classes Eddie would be able to recognise it as a flamethrower. The Weapon glows brightly and disappears out of their partner’s grip as it stretches and forms a girl that’s standing beside him instead. She’s wearing a green dress, grinning widely as she tosses a thick curly mass of red hair over her shoulder, and ruffles a hand in her partner’s hair, making him duck down bashfully with a smile.

“What a slut,” a female voice mutters, loudly enough to be heard clearly in the silent room, before attempting to badly disguise her words as a cough. Some of the other students around the room laugh. Eddie doesn’t find it funny.

Eddie has never seen Beverly Marsh’s Demon Weapon form, even though she’s been in his class for nearly a year already. She transferred over at the end of their first year, after some trouble with the girls in her own class. There were lots of rumours why – nasty shit that he didn’t indulge in – but since then she’d hung around at the back of every class, refusing to partner up with anyone. It wasn’t compulsory to be part of a Weapon-Meister team, but, obviously, you couldn’t participate in any of the practical lessons otherwise.

Eddie idly wonders what happened to result in her being paired up with the quiet new guy, especially since she’d seemed so reluctant to join in before, and from what Eddie has seen of him, he looks almost too nice to be at a college that trains its students to hunt and kill demons.

The laughter around the room continues and the new guy’s cheeks have flushed an even brighter red as the kindness in his face closes into something darker.

Looks like there’s a fire in him too after all.

Beverly places a hand on his shoulder and shakes her head. She stretches up a little to whisper something in his ear, and then grabs his hand and tugs him away from the others, back to the side of the room. He throws a glare over his shoulder as he follows her.

The problem with Beverly deciding to finally be someone’s Weapon partner is that it now makes it even more unbearably uncomfortable that there’s only… (Eddie twists around in his uncomfortable as fuck seat to see who else is in the ‘loser’s club’ – benched out of the practical lessons) … _two of them_ without a partner, and unable to participate. Well, three, once Myra has finished having her tantrum and returns.

The only other student in Eddie’s class without a partner is a quiet boy named Stanley.

He’s at the very back of the room, with a notebook perched on his skinny lap, writing something from time to time. But mostly he just… watches. His neatly curled hair is nearly falling over one of his eyes, his perfectly clean shirts always looks like they’ve been freshly ironed every day, and his dark eyes are so bright and keen that it makes Eddie feel like he’s observing _everything_ without even trying. Like he can look straight through you to your very soul. He’s heard that there are people out there with that ability though, so maybe he really can. Eddie has often wondered if Stan is a Demon Weapon or a Meister, but they’ve never spoken, so he doesn’t know.

All Eddie can hope for is that it won’t be long until another student transfers over from a different class. Transferring is the only way to find someone who can match your soul wavelength when there are no available options in your own class, and so far Eddie has been lucky – he hasn’t had to move because all the Weapons who transferred over were free to partner up with him. None of them had ever worked out in the long run, of-fucking-course, but it usually gave him a small window of time where he could at least stand with the rest of his class to watch the practical lessons. Occasionally he’d been able to join in, when their soul wavelengths weren’t a _disastrous_ match, even though they’d always been a little too hot or heavy or hard to hear. It was a little pathetic, but it’s what his Meister experience had been like his whole life, so it was fine.

Right?

Eddie knows that trying to _force_ his soul to match a Weapon’s soul wavelength is unhealthy in the long run, but it’s all he can keep doing if he wants to actually have a shot at fighting demons one day. And wasn’t that the whole point of him joining this college in the first place? To push himself and stop being so scared?

(To fight the demons he could _actually_ _fight_ , rather than the ones inside his own head?)

Stanley suddenly catches his eye with one raised eyebrow and Eddie remembers he’s still staring at him, so he rapidly turns back around in his seat, crosses his arms, and huffs at the room.

Maybe Stanley can read minds too.

The rest of the lesson passes by uneventfully; the other students all practice using their Weapon partners to attack the targets, though none are taken out in quite the show that Beverly and her Meister partner managed, and as soon as the bell goes they all leave the classroom as fast as they can. Eddie watches Stanley take his time to carefully fold his notebook and slot it into place in his backpack before he stands up and walks stiffly out of the room.

Beverly and the new guy are sweeping up the ashes of their obliterated target when the teacher slings a bag over his shoulder and comes to stand in front of Eddie. He peers down his long nose and says impassively, “Edward. This has gone on long enough. These arguments with your Weapon partners are interrupting your classes far too often. I’ve spoken with the other lecturers about it, and we all agree that for the sake of your fellow classmates, whose time you are taking away with your stunts and squabbles, we think it would be better if you just sat quietly like Stanley does and took notes for a while.”

Eddie nearly chokes on the indignation that leaps into his throat. “I-”

“It was decided that if you lost another partner, we wouldn’t allow you to take on any others until you enter your third year,” the teacher interrupts firmly. He clicks his tongue. “I’ve never met a second-year Meister who has had this many failed partnerships with a Demon Weapon before. You’re causing a constant disruption. Do you think that’s fair?”

Eddie clenches his fists so hard he can feel the pain of each of his short nails digging into his palms. “No, sir,” he eventually grinds out, when it’s clear that an answer is required of him. (He emits the _‘you asshole’_ that nearly tumbles out of his mouth afterwards.)

Eddie takes a deep breath through his nose, but it doesn’t feel like it’s enough to fill his lungs properly.

(Why’d he leave his inhaler behind today?) (God, he wants his inhaler.)

His teacher’s parting shot, just as he’s leaving the room, is a ‘suggestion’ that Eddie should go and see the campus councillor, to discuss why his soul can’t connect with anyone else’s. But Eddie can barely hear what he’s saying over the ringing in his ears and the squeezing sensation in his lungs.

And he knows he doesn’t even have asthma.

(He _knows_.)

“Hey, are you okay?” A soft voice finally snaps Eddie out of the pit of panic his mind is falling into and he looks up into the clear blue gaze and dotted freckles of Beverly Marsh. She’s got her hands on her hips, her cherry red lips are pinched in concern, and her head is tilted to one side.

Her Meister partner is standing beside her, holding a bin bag full of ashes in one hand and a dustpan in the other. He oozes a soft sort of kindness and lets all his emotions shine clear out of his expression and his bright eyes, currently full of sympathy, and there’s just… something about him that makes Eddie want to trust him. It’s a very foreign feeling.

He’d actually forgotten they were still in the room too.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah.” Eddie shakes his head, licks his lips and takes a deep breath. “I’m fine- uh, yeah. Thanks.”

“You should ignore that pretentious asshole,” Beverly huffs, waving a dismissive hand at the door their teacher just left through. Her eyes are blue, but they flash with a fire that reminds Eddie of her flamethrower Weapon form.

“There’s something wrong with everyone in this town,” her partner adds, softly. His hand goes to his stomach.

Eddie’s eyebrows pull together. “What?”

He shakes his head and snatches his hand away quickly, while his mouth twists into a worried line. “Oh, nothing. Don’t worry about it. Um, just, don’t be disheartened. I heard that you’ve… struggled to find a partner, but you shouldn’t give up.” He smiles and his cheeks pinch up into happy peaks that seem to brighten up his whole face. It’s a nice sentiment, and Eddie can tell that he means it, but he seems so easy-going that it must have been easy for him to match his soul wavelength to anyone. He still finds Beverly Marsh an odd fit for him, but maybe her fiery nature compliments his softness? Really, he shouldn’t even try to guess at it. He’s always been shockingly bad in Soul Compatibility class – usually he just daydreams and doodles in his notebook.

“I’m Ben, by the way. Ben Hanscom. I don’t think we’ve actually met yet.” Ben juggles the bin bag and the dustpan into one hand and offers the other to Eddie, and he tries not to recoil. Hands in general are gross. But these hands are covered in ash and have been using a dustpan and brush that’s who-knows-how-old, that has been used to sweep up who-knows-what over the years. From the dusty wooden floor. The wooden floor that everyone’s shoes have been walking over.

Nope.

_Nope. Nope. Nope._

Eddie lets out one nervous bubble of laughter, that he’s glad isn’t a gag, and stands up without accepting the handshake. “Eddie,” he supplies back, trying to ignore the hurt that flashes onto Ben’s kind face.

He’s not trying to be rude. He just can’t help it.

This is another reason why he doesn’t have friends, he realises, mumbling a goodbye and fleeing the room. Friends require human contact, and fucking _manners_. Neither of which come naturally to Eddie.

A memory floats to the surface of his mind as he walks quickly down the college corridors; a memory of a younger him, his voice pitched high and squeaky in his childhood, obediently replying ‘yes, mommy’ when his mother softly _(acidly)_ asked, “Eddie-bear, have you taken your medication?” and ‘no, mommy’ when she asked, “Did you touch any of the other kids today?”. (But she’d always tell him to wash his hands again anyway.) She’d finally just pulled him out of school when she’d found out that they’d ‘let’ a Demon Weapon child into his class – like they weren’t people too. Like they didn’t deserve to go to school like every other kid in their town. She’d thrown a tantrum over the phone to his Principal the day she’d found out, and Eddie often tries to repress the echoes of her shrill voice spitting out the words ‘dirty’, ‘filthy’ and ‘monsters’.

He can still remember how much he’d cried when she told him he wouldn’t be going to school anymore.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to his mother that he escaped away to college as soon as he could, but he remembers even more vividly the shocked hysterics she’d exploded into the day he’d told her.

It was one of the reasons he’d chosen to come to the DWMA,DB – or the Death Weapon Meister Academy, Derry Branch – just for the spiteful protest of it. Or, more accurately he supposes, the _secret_ spiteful protest of it, because although she knows he’s far away from her at college (over four beautifully long hours) she doesn’t actually know that he goes _here,_ and he hates that he can’t bring himself to tell her. She shouldn’t have this kind of power over him anymore but… to his continued shame and dismay, she does. He’d intended on telling her that he’d chosen to go specifically to a college that teaches students to fight demons with a Weapon partner just for the big ‘fuck you’ of it all, but he couldn’t tell her when he chose it, he couldn’t tell her when he left (when she was crying and begging and pleading with him not to leave her alone), and he _still_ can’t tell her. She thinks he goes to a ‘regular’ college. Like a normal person.

Eddie is practically runs across campus to the apartment building, his breath coming in short sharp bursts that make him painfully aware of the empty space in his pocket where his inhaler used to be.

And this ridiculous secret protest isn’t even working because he can’t find a single fucking person in the whole college who can connect with his soul wavelength.

(Maybe his soul _is_ broken?)

Eddie finally races up the stairs in the apartment building, cursing his short legs having to take them one at a time, and flings open the door to his own apartment. He races into his room and drops heavily to his knees, pulling open his bedside drawer with so much force that the wood screeches in protest. He shoves his hand straight to the back where he knows he put the small plastic device, then grabs his inhaler and shoves it into his mouth. He pumps it and sucks in a gulp of the vaguely minty tasting air.

_Fuck._

He knows he doesn’t even have asthma.

(He _knows_.)

Eddie sucks in one more pump and then sinks down to the floor with a sigh. He leans against his bed, eyes closed.

He’s so pathetic.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there quietly, trying not to let his chaotic thoughts bounce around his head, but after a while he gently replaces the inhaler back into his bedside drawer and emerges from his bedroom, running a hand through his hair. He grabs one of the glasses from the kitchen cupboard, twists the handle for the tap with a shaky hand, and gulps down the entire glass of shitty student-quality tepid water in one. He lets out another sigh as he slams the empty glass onto the counter. It’s only then that he realises that all of Myra’s stuff has disappeared.

Eddie peeks into what was her bedroom, noting the empty drawers left pulled open and stark desolation of the room – remembering with a shudder how pink and gaudy and cluttered it had been before. She must have been busy moving out while she’d missed the rest of the lesson, and he was admittedly a little impressed that she’d managed it so quickly. He used to moan if her stuff began to encroach on their shared spaces, like the living area and the kitchen, but she would put on her best simpering voice and convince him that it was ‘their’ apartment and that she was entitled to leave her things out, and ultimately he’d always back down.

Eddie crinkles his nose as he comes to the horrifying realisation that she reminded him of his mom.

One of the perks of choosing to become a Meister, someone with a soul that can connect to Demon Weapons and who hunts and kills demons with them, is that the threat of constant death and dismemberment comes with an apartment to live in while you’re training. Each Meister gets their own, and their Weapon partner moves in with them – to _strengthen their bond_ or whatever. But it all feels like a load of bullshit to Eddie really. Who could possibly grow closer to someone they were having to share all their space with? It’s a gross idea.

Eddie opens the window in the living room, leans out of it, and takes a deep breath of evening air. From here he can see the town of Derry, not too far away. It’s an old, dusty town that gives him the creeps. He’s only been into it twice before, when the soul connection with one of his previous Weapon partners was just strong enough to earn him a pass into a hunting assignment in town – but it was a complete disaster because they didn’t even see a single demon and after only an hour they’d had to go back to campus because Eddie couldn’t physically hold his partner up anymore.

In fact, he dimly realises, he barely knows Derry at all. The college is on the edge of town, and the locals don’t go near it. He’s heard that they’re mostly narrowminded and backwards thinking; quite happy to be eaten by the demons they deny exist, that are being hunted down by the Weapons that they persecute and shun.

But tonight, maybe he just wants to join them. Eddie wants to forget about Weapons and Meisters for once. He knows it’s dangerous to go into Derry without a Weapon partner this late into the evening, especially since it’s a town surprisingly frequented by demon attacks, but he shuts down the panicked part of his brain that usually warns him against spontaneity and risk-taking. And he walks out of his apartment.

Summer is rapidly approaching, so the air is warm and still as Eddie leaves campus and the apartment block behind. His heavy boots kick up dust as he walks the old sidewalks and he’s glad he’s got a shirt and shorts on, since it’s warmer than he anticipated, even into the evening. It feels nice. Even if he is worrying about breathing in all the dust and shit that he’s kicking up with each step, thinks he probably should have worn sun cream on his arms, and he kind of regrets not wearing his face mask.

It’s not a long walk into town, but by the time he gets there the sun is really starting to go down. It adds to the general tawny haze of the place, and the lengthening shadows make Eddie shudder. At least all thoughts of Weapons and Meisters and sitting at the edge of the classroom for the rest of the year are thankfully banished into the back of Eddie’s mind as he wonders through the town without any destination. (But there are other worries now like: damn, he should have paid more attention to the route he’d taken to get here, and wow, that sun is really getting low, and shit, do they even have taxis in Derry?)

Derry itself is quiet, almost to the point of being empty. There are only a handful of people walking the dusty streets, a few old cars go by, and nobody even gives himself or each other a second glance as they walk. It feels strange. Eddie’s frown increases as he walks.

He finally stops in front of a shabby looking cinema. There are loud electronic noises coming from inside and Eddie has to practically push his nose against the glass (though not actually, because that would be fucking disgusting) to see through it, against the low sun and the shadows that are making it show his own reflection like a mirror. There are kids playing on arcade games inside, laughing and shouting, and it makes his heart pang for the times like this that he never had in his own childhood. It calms the off-kilter itch at the back of his neck he’d been feeling, to see kids acting normally, but it also contrasts with the adults even more. What had the new guy – Ben, Eddie remembered – said before? That there was something wrong with the people in this town? The stink of sweat slowly drifts out to him and Eddie leans back with a disgusted sound in the back of his throat, squashing any plans to go in and ask for directions.

 _This_ is just another reason why he doesn’t do impulsive things, and why he’s always right to worry. Nothing good ever comes of turning off the voice in the back of his head that tells him to think of the risks.

He sighs raggedly and paces back and forth in front of the entrance, realising the sun has practically set now, and all his worries seep into his thoughts like ink on wet paper. In his frustration Eddie kicks an empty can of soda into an alley beside the theatre. He hears the can clang satisfyingly loudly off a brick wall, but then instead of hearing the second clang of it hitting the floor, it thuds into something soft.

“Ow- fuck!” A voice hisses out of the shadows, making Eddie jump. “Back for more, Henry?” The voice wheezes and coughs. “’Cause y’know I was just warming up, right? You assholes are gonna be in for a world of-” another cough “-fucking hurt this time.”

“Who’s there?” Eddie demands, casting his eyes through the shadows for the owner of the voice. Despite not having a Weapon partner with him, he finds his training kicking in – it keeps him tense and alert.

Finally, a shape moves in the shadows.

There’s one cracked and dim light in the alley, barely lighting up the theatre’s large dumpster (now that Eddie thinks about it, he can smell stale popcorn and sickly-sweet soda) and the stranger slowly leans away from the wall and into the light. Eddie relaxes only marginally. He looks about his own age; he’s tall and skinny with dark curls that hang loosely around his pale face. His dark eyes seem almost black in the dim light and his high cheekbones compliment his long nose and full lips.

Eddie’s first thought should not be _‘pretty’_.

(But it is.)

“Oh, thank fuck you’re not Henry,” he says as he wipes a hand over his mouth. He winces at what he sees when he looks at it, and only then does Eddie notice the red smeared there – it looks like his lip is bleeding quite badly, there’s a dark bruise blooming around one of his eyes already and there’s an angry red mark on one his cheeks. Eddie takes an automatic half step back from the sight of the blood. The stranger adjusts his button-down shirt so that it’s not falling off one shoulder anymore, though it remains un-buttoned over a black sleeveless t-shirt, and Eddie notices a smear of dirt and blood, that’s nearly lost in the burgundy colour, catching the dim light. The knees of his jeans are ripped, but Eddie doesn’t think that was because of the fight.

“You look like shit,” comes tumbling out of Eddie’s mouth before he can stop it.

He laughs, then coughs and says, “Well you should see the other guy.”

“Huh. Right. Sure.” Eddie doesn’t even care that his voice is thick with suspicion and that he’s still poised as if to fight or flee. (He’s never actually been in a real fight, so he’s not entirely sure which way he’ll go.)

“Oh yeah. Big beefy guy, muscles on muscles, thick as shit. Got in a few lucky punches,” he concedes, pretending to be modest, “but it’s nothing compared to what I did to him.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he’s really cut up about his bleeding knuckles from where they connected with your bony face,” Eddie snaps back immediately, gesturing towards him.

Eddie blinks in surprise at his own words. What is he doing? Why isn’t he leaving? This stranger is literally beaten and bloody in an _alleyway_ and Eddie’s having some kind of back and forth with him. And yet, he realises with utter confusion, there’s something he’s actually... _enjoying_ about this.

“I guess puberty did me a solid there. It was good for something at least,” the stranger crows, “it’s just a shame it passed you over, huh?” He makes a squashing motion with his hands – an obvious jab at his height – and then howls with laughter when Eddie gasps in such a high-pitch that even he can hear how ridiculous it sounds.

“Okay. Fuck you. I’m leaving,” Eddie snaps as he turns away.

“Hey, no- wait, shit-”

Eddie stops.

“Look, I uh- I kind of lost my glasses in the fight? And I’m pretty blind without them, and I feel a little bit like if I bend down to try and find them, I don’t think I’ll be getting back up again,” he wheezes. He puts on a strange accent, that Eddie thinks is supposed to sound British, as he adds, “I would be ever so grateful if you could retrieve my spectacles for me, ol’ chum.”

“I’m not your ‘chum’,” Eddie snaps. He frowns and folds his arms. “Wait, if you need glasses, how’d you know I’m short?”

“I can just tell. You have like, extreme small-dog energy. Like my neighbour’s Pomeranian.”

Eddie takes a deep breath through his nose. “Okay. Fuck you.”

The stranger laughs until it turns into a wheezing cough. “Oh man, I think I cracked a rib.”

Eddie sniffs loudly. “Maybe you just busted it laughing at your own terrible jokes.”

“Your mom always laughs at my jokes,” he retorts.

“Really?” Eddie throws up his hands. “A ‘your mom’ joke? How old are you? Twelve?”

“I’ve been told I _am_ a twelve,” he says and Eddie can _hear_ the grin in his tone. “Y’know. Out of ten- wait, wait, wait!” he rushes as Eddie turns to leave again. “I’m serious, I really need my glasses. You wouldn’t leave me to die out here blind, would you?”

“I’m considering it.” Eddie sighs wearily. “Alright, where are your glasses?”

“Ah, thanks man. You’re a lifesaver. But also, yeah, I have no idea.”

“What?”

“Well if I knew, I’d have picked them up already. You’ll have to fish around for them. Henry got me straight to the face and they flicked off somewhere.”

“Fish… around… on the- on the floor? You want me to- to put my hands down there? And _fish_ for them? Nuh-uh. Nope. No way. Do you know how unsanitary that is? There could be- I mean, there could be broken glass down there, covered in dirt- do you know how easy it is to get an infection from a cut from dirty glass? There could be- fucking- could be used needles or something-” Eddie gags. “Shit, there really could be used needles.”

“Woah, hey, slow down there. Wow, how are actual words coming out of your mouth that fast? Was that even English?” There’s an amused smile on his face that Eddie is confused about. He’s always been… a little neurotic about health, and it’s always earned him nothing but grief. Another reason he could never seem to make friends. But the stranger just wipes more blood from his lip, rubs it on his jeans (while Eddie cringes) and shakes his head a little, making his curls bounce. “Hey look, don’t worry about it. Honestly, it was just good talking to you while I’ve been trying not to pass out. Good distraction.”

Eddie isn’t sure at first whether he’s serious or not, and gets ready to argue, but there’s something about his expression that seems genuine for a moment, before a grin slides itself back onto his lips. He speaks in a high voice with another odd accent as he sing-songs, “It’s been fun dah-ling, but you should go. Toodles!”

But Eddie doesn’t move.

He bites his lip. “Are… Are you sure? I mean, I don’t want to go thinking you’re just going to pass out and- and never wake up again or something. Maybe you should just leave the glasses and go see a doctor.”

For a moment the stranger doesn’t reply and there’s a flash surprise on his face that Eddie can make out even through the shadows. It fades quickly. “It’s fine. My mom will kill me if she has to pay for any more medical bills because I’ve been fighting. Even though it’s never my fault…”

“Oh yeah, I definitely believe that,” comes out of Eddie’s mouth before he can stop it.

“Maybe I just have a punchable face.” He shrugs. “But if _existing_ counts, then sure, maybe it is my fault.”

“Oh, uh-”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says a little lighter. But it feels like there’s something unsaid there. “This whole town is full of judgemental assholes and if they want to give me shit for minding my own business then I can’t be blamed for whatever comes out of my mouth when they do.”

Eddie wonders what he means, but after a pause he says, “I still think you should get some medical attention though – that lip looks like it could need stitches.”

The stranger chuckles, all traces of his vulnerability from before are gone as his light humour returns. “Okay, okay – _mom_. Jesus.”

Something dark twists at the bottom of Eddie’s stomach at the implication that he’s like his mother. Except this guy hasn’t even met his mother (she’s four hours away, he reminds himself) so Eddie knows he doesn’t mean it like that. He’s saying it in a teasing way – trying to brush off his concerns. But his concern is different to his mother’s isn’t it? It’s terrifying how just the idea that he may be similar to her has set off such a primal fear in him.

“Hey, are you okay there?”

“Uh- yeah. Yeah. Just. Yeah.” Eddie gives himself a mental shake and feels himself calm down as he looks at the dark eyes in front of him. “But you will go and get looked at?” he presses again.

“Only because I feel like you might drag me there yourself if I say no.” He smiles but Eddie is still frowning. “Y’know what, if I’m lying may God strike down- hey, uh, what’s your name?”

“What the- I’m not telling you my fucking name _now!_ ” Eddie gestures his arms in a violent, universally understood expression of _‘what the fuck’_.

“Okay, may God strike down… Spaghetti Arms over here, if I’m lying.”

“ _Spaghetti-_ ” he splutters. “My arms aren’t even as thin as yours, you asshole!”

“Thanks for keeping me company Spaghetti Arms, it’s been nice knowing you.”

“Oh my _God_ \- it’s Eddie. Eddie. My name’s Eddie.”

He gasps and softly, so softly, says, “Eddie Spaghetti.”

Eddie breathes deeply through his nose. “Y’know what, I’m like ninety-percent sure you’ve got a concussion. If I leave you here, chances are you’ll have some kind of brain aneurysm – you’ve probably got a blockage in there already and it won’t be long before you pass out and never wake up – so yeah, don’t take my advice, don’t get your lip stitched up and let it get infected and fall off or something, that sounds real smart.”

“Oh shit. Thanks for the glowing assessment, doc. Do I get a physical examination too?” The stranger wiggles his eyebrows and winks with a loud chuckle, then hisses with pain as he suddenly grips his ribs tighter. “Fuck- ow fuck.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“Then why aren’t you leaving already?”

“I’m going now, actually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Right fucking n-”

Eddie is interrupted by the laughter and chatter of the kids leaving the cinema, rushing home to be back before it’s fully dark. He looks up at the darkening sky and the stars speckling the inky blue, remembering how foolish it was to have come here at all, and that he should be safe back in his apartment already. But…

“Look, you- you really should go,” the stranger says more seriously, almost echoing Eddie’s thoughts. “I’ll wait here for a while and limp home a bit later to lick my wounds. I’ll come back in the morning for my glasses.” He shrugs as if it’s that easy, but there’s a wary shine to his eyes. He tilts his head. “You know what, I’ve not actually seen you around before. You might not know, but it’s really not safe to be out and about in this shithole of a town after it gets dark.”

“Yeah, I know,” Eddie says, “what do you think I was trying to do before I stumbled upon your sorry ass, dipshit.”

He’s glad that his voice comes out normally, because inside is a whirlwind of emotions that he can’t even begin to process. He is not a selfless person; he doesn’t care enough about other people to help them, he doesn’t stick around if he can run and get away safely, he doesn’t have conversations with strangers who are beaten, bloody and bruised in dark alleyways (and enjoys it) and yet here he is…

Without the background noise of the kids and the electronic consoles inside the arcade, the alley should feel dark and eerie, but Eddie realises he isn’t scared as he hears the stranger laughing again, his broad bony shoulders shaking with the effort not to agitate his ribs. Eddie tries to push down the smile that’s trying to creep onto his face at the sight. He’s never made anyone laugh so much before.

“That’s it. I’m fully convinced I’ve already died now, and you’re my mind’s last attempt to let me have a good laugh before I go.” Richie brings his hand up and makes a strange movement in mid-air in front of his eyes, before he frowns and lets his hand drop back down. Was he reaching to readjust his glasses that aren’t there?

Eddie runs an agitated hand through his hair. He can’t leave him like this. “Come here,” he sighs, opening one arm and positioning himself next to the stranger. He’s highly aware that there is still _blood_ on his shirt and jeans, but he pushes his own internal panic away again (he’s getting good at that today) as he motions for him to lean some of his weight on him.

The stranger’s eyebrows shoot up. “Y’sure? I don’t wanna crush you.”

Eddie nods with a roll of his eyes, not trusting himself not to gag as he realises that he can almost smell the blood when an arm goes around his shoulders. He thinks it’s going to be hard work to carry any of the taller man’s weight, but he’s so skinny that he’s surprisingly light, even though he’s so tall. Or maybe he’s not leaning on him very hard. Eddie brings his arm around the stranger’s back and wonders just how badly he’d been beaten up, as he still hisses with pain even with the care that he’s taking to be very gentle.

At least he’s finally succeeded in pushing all of his confusing feelings into the far more comfortable and familiar state of _annoyed-about-something_. “Please tell me your house isn’t far.”

“Not far,” he confirms. “Though I might take us the long way just so I can keep you like this.”

“I’ll fucking drop you man.”

“It’d be worth it.” Then after a pause he adds, “I’m Richie by the way.”

Eddie opens his mouth to reply when a noise startles him, and he stops.

They’re nearly at the end of the alley now, but Eddie can just about see that there’s a dark shadow standing at their exit. Its shape is mostly indefinable from the darkness, but it looks large. Too big for a person.

Eddie curses under his breath.

“Wh-" Richie begins, before Eddie slaps a hand over his mouth. He hisses with pain but remains silent.

A high-pitched screeching noise drifts to them both, like nails down a chalkboard, and Eddie can feel a raw unrestrained dread rushing through his veins.

_Shit. Shit. Shit._

The shape rumbles something lower and more dangerous as it takes a loud, crunchy step into the alleyway. (Distantly, even through the terror, Eddie wants to tell Richie that he _knew_ there would be broken glass on the floor.) Eddie is fighting to keep his breathing even as he gently, slowly, tugs Richie towards the large dumpster he’d seen further down the alley. His chest is tightening, and he can feel the shortness of breath that is threatening to make him hyperventilate and give them away, but if they can just hide and wait, the demon might leave. A hundred different scenarios are flashing through Eddie’s panicked brain, and admittedly a large proportion of them involve a painful, lingering, horrific death. But he forces his feet to step backwards, still holding some of Richie’s weight and trying to convey with his careful movements what Richie won’t be able to see without his glasses and what he can’t say out loud for fear that the thing will hear him:

_Stay quiet. Move slow. Don’t get us killed._

Richie must have picked up that something is wrong because he is stepping backwards with as much care as Eddie, and even with his hand over his mouth he isn’t trying to say anything. (And from what little he knows of Richie so far, he thinks that’s quite an impressive feat.) He realises with a jolt that this stranger is trusting him right now; virtually blind without his glasses, walking backwards into the dark. Trust is something Eddie has no experience in at all. It flares something inside him that feels distinctly different to the fear coursing through his body, almost conflicting with it and pushing it away, and it’s something that fills him with the confidence to feel like he can save them both.

(Is it courage?)

Eddie finally feels the dumpster right behind them with his heel and he guides them behind it, practically pulling Richie down with him in his haste to hide them behind its bulk. He lets out a thin, shaky exhale as Richie lets out a pained but quiet wheeze and they both lean back against the wall.

There’s no light at all here so Eddie jumps a little when something touches his ear – but it’s just Richie’s fingers, helping him figure out where to put his mouth, as he whispers hoarsely, “What’s going on?”

Eddie has never let someone share his space like this; they’re squashed together, limbs pressing against each other, Richie’s fingers lightly touching the shell of his ear, and his usual response to this kind of closeness and touching and remembering how filthy and covered in dirt Richie’s clothes are is to recoil in disgust. But another heavy, crunchy footstep sounds in the alley and Eddie knows the demon is advancing. Probably drawn to the smell of fear. His fear.

Eddie is actively fighting not to let himself spiral into an asthma attack – ( _panic attack._ He knows he doesn’t have asthma) – and he squeezes his eyes shut as he switches off the parts of his brain that are simultaneously fighting over whether to prioritise death-by-demon or death-by-germs, as he leans over to whisper back, “There’s a demon. Coming into the alley.”

“What the fuck!” Richie hisses.

“Shh!”

“Sorry, I meant,” Richie lowers his voice even further, “ _what the fuck._ ”

Eddie can’t believe that the raw, almost blinding panic, is ebbing away as he feels Richie’s whispered breath in his ear – something about him being able to crack a joke even now makes him want to roll his eyes instead of cry. But he can feel Richie’s fingertips betraying his own fear as they tremble against his skin.

The demon takes another step. A deep growl rumbles through the darkness. _It knows we’re here_ , Eddie thinks desperately, knowing it won’t be long until it finds them. He hasn’t even got anything to defend them with, and Richie isn’t in any kind of shape to run.

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, willing himself to come up with a solution.

“Hey man, look, I’m pretty much a sitting duck here. If I distract it, you’re teeny-tiny enough to slip past it without even knowing,” Richie whispers.

“Are you- are you really throwing in an insult about my height right now? Seriously? We’re about to die and you-” Eddie hisses, then takes another deep breath, hoping to think of a better plan. “Is there an exit further back into the alley? Another way out?”

“Nah, it’s a dead end back there.”

“Shit.”

Another step. Louder. Closer.

Richie’s voice is still low but there’s something strange and hurried about it, blowing straight into Eddie’s ear, when he rushes out with, “Eddie, have you ever fired a gun before?”

“What?”

“A gun,” he says in the same weird, breathless voice, “have you ever fired one?”

Eddie thinks of all the weapon partners he’s had; he’s wielded knives, swords, axes, a spear, even a slingshot once… but no guns. “Uh- no- I- guns don’t even hurt demons. Wait, why the fuck do you have a gun?”

Richie’s fingers finally slide away from Eddie’s ear, and there’s something sad in the hitch of his voice when he sighs and says, “I don’t _have_ a gun. I _am_ a gun.”

Eddie is too stunned to reply as Richie whispers, “Just point, shoot, and run. And don’t drop me. You got this Eddie Spaghetti.” He grins as a glow of light flashes up his body. He quickly loses his human shape as the light compresses into something much much smaller and Eddie holds out a hand on reflex to hold onto the Weapon as it solidifies.

The first thing his shocked-slow brain registers is that the gun is light. It’s so light, it barely makes his hand move down as it rests into the palm of his hand. To someone who is used to barely being able to lift a Weapon, Eddie can’t believe how little they can weigh. And it’s warm. Not in the way he’s used to, which is more like scorching heat and blisters, but instead it’s a gentle, reassuring warmth, like holding onto someone’s hand. (Or Eddie assumes anyway, since he’s never held a hand other than his mom’s and hers were always sweaty.)

A modern looking matte silver handgun sits perfectly in his palm, the handgrip black and smooth. The metal is darker than he would have expected for a gun, and the barrel is tall, like there’s two stacked on top of each other. It’s a sleek design, and as always for Demon Weapons, something about it evokes the image of Richie in his human shape.

It’s like something suddenly clicks into place deep inside himself. Is this…? _A soul connection?_

 _“Shit, Eds, don’t just stare – shoot!”_ Richie’s voice is as clear in his head as if he was right next to him. Closer even. It travels down his spine and makes Eddie’s head snap up to the large shadow now looming in front of him – attracted by the light of Richie’s transformation. _“Do something!”_

Eddie yelps and scrambles to his feet to dive out of the way as the demon lunges. It crashes heavily into the wall and falls against the dumpster with a loud clang.

_“Shit! That was so close!”_

“I know, I know! Shit – fuck – you’re-”

_“Don’t freak out on me. I’ll explain later I-”_

“Richie, stop talking!”

Eddie regains his balance and whips back around, pointing the gun straight ahead of him at the demon that has yet to get back up. He pulls the trigger and lets out a startled gasp when a flurry of lights shoots out of the Weapon in his hand.

“You’re automatic?!”

_“Fuck if I know!”_

The demon screeches in pain and leaps to its feet as Eddie throws himself further away from the looming shadow. It lumbers towards him and he finally gets a good look at it as it moves beneath the single dim lightbulb in the alleyway; its skin is a dark sickly green, scaled like a lizard’s, that’s stretched too thin over a hulking knobbly body. Its clawed front arms are so long that they trail on the ground, and it has huge clawed feet that crunch over the trash on the floor. Its jaws are parted, flashing multiple rows of sharp teeth on a reptilian looking face that is unnervingly too long and narrow.

Eddie tries so hard not to freeze up or gag, but his legs have locked in place and his arms are shaking where they’re held in front of him, gripping so tightly onto gun-Richie that it hurts.

_“Eddie!”_

The demon growls.

_“Look at me!”_

Eddie looks at the handgun, reacting more to the command than anything else.

_“Shoot and run!”_

Eddie sucks in a sharp and painful breath, realising he’d been holding it, as he pulls the trigger again. But the demon ducks down and the bullets of light sail harmlessly over its shoulder, exploding into the wall opposite in a spray of holes. Brick dust shoots over the alleyway and without being able to see him properly, the demon misjudges its next leap and crashes into the wall just beside Eddie with another screech. Eddie tries to jump away to escape out of the alleyway while it’s distracted, but just as he turns to move the demon recovers quickly and it strikes out one of its grossly long arms.

Eddie brings his hand up at the exact same time as the demon attacks, holding the gun out in front of him like a tiny shield, and the demon’s claws strike the Weapon with a force that slams Eddie to the floor with a yelp as the air is knocked out of him. He rolls and slides across the cold hard ground.

But the claws were blocked by Demon Steel, no matter how small of an amount it is, so he’s still alive at least, and the gun remains as untarnished as it was before.

Can’t scratch Demon Steel.

Something powerful pulses into Eddie’s chest with a force that hitches his sputtering breaths as he feels an electric mix of _concern-fear-concern-guilt-awe-fear-pleasedon’thateme_ and Eddie realises that it’s Richie’s emotions, not his own. He’s getting feedback from Richie’s soul.

_“Eddie! Are you okay!?”_

Eddie coughs and groans as he tries to push himself back to his feet.

Everything fucking _hurts_.

He’s still holding onto the gun tightly in his right hand, so he places his left on the ground to help push himself upright, and his fingers touch something cold and hard. Eddie turns in surprise, sees the glint of light in glass, and grabs the object before he even registers what he’s doing – shoving it into his pocket as he sits upright. The screech of the demon is his only alert to the fact that it’s untangled its own limbs and is coming back. In that brief window between _knowing_ and _being dead_ , Eddie ignores the shouts and cries of Richie in his mind and raises his right arm straight in front of him. Dead centre. And he pulls the trigger.

The demon is destroyed in mid-air, inches away from its claws being buried in Eddie’s chest, with a sound like paper tearing and an odd audible pop. Then it’s gone.

In its place is a floating red orb, in an egg-like shape, with wisps of glowing red emanating from it. “A Kishin Egg…” Eddie breathes, suddenly torn between laughing or crying. The soul of a defeated demon. As it kills humans and consumes their souls it feeds its own soul ‘egg’ until it has enough power to hatch into a Kishin – a True Demon. It’s what the DWMA, the organisation that runs the college Eddie goes to, is actively trying to prevent. It’s what they’re all training for. He helped stop that happen tonight.

 _They_ did it.

Eddie lies back down with a grunt, his head hitting the ground harder than he’d intended, and cradles the gun against his chest.

 _“…-ddie! Eddie! Eds, can you hear me?”_ Richie is practically yelling into his head and Eddie winces at the volume.

He pats gun-Richie absently. “Y-Yeah. Loud and clear.” His voice is embarrassingly shaky and weak. “And don’t call me Eds.”

_“That was un-fucking-believable! Shit you were so fucking cool! How did you do that? What the fuck!”_

(Eddie can’t help the smile that lights up his face – he’s too weak to push it away.)

_“Where’d you learn to move like that? If you tell me you’re some kind of super spy or action hero or something I am going to lose my shit man.”_

“Me?” Eddie bursts out, cheeks warming at the unexpected praise. “What about you! What- being a Demon Weapon kind of slipped your mind? Asshole! You were there with your arm around me, letting me struggle to carry your lanky ass out of there when you could have just let me carry you back as a gun! And then we could have died before you decided to remember you can fight demons. And why the fuck didn’t you just transform into a gun instead of getting beaten up earlier?”

There’s a long gap of silence and Eddie wonders if this is the moment that he’ll realise that they don’t have a soul connection after all. Maybe it was just something about the adrenaline that made them work together, and the gun will get too hot and heavy to hold like Weapons always did. But he can still feel the strange sensation of not-his-own-emotions swirling through his mind, giving him phantom feelings that are almost too complicated to decipher. Mostly he thinks he can feel… shame. It feels deep and dark and old, not a reaction to what he’d just said. It’s a terrifying feeling.

 _“But secret identities and battle scars make me so much cooler,”_ is finally Richie’s reply, chuckling with no humour and thick with a tone that felt almost sticky and cloying inside Eddie’s head. Was this what lying sounded like? Could his soul… could it tell?

_“Don’t you know, Eds? Can’t go around telling everyone my dirt-… my secret. Everyone loves a man of mysteries. Especially the ladies. It’s always a surprise and they love it. And hey, you know what else the ladies love? Something with a bit of firepower, if y’know what I mean, especially your mom-”_

“Ugh! Shut up, Richie! You’re so disgusting.” Eddie pulls a face as he sits up. “And seriously, stop calling me Eds.”

There’s something else there that he’s not saying and trying to cover up with jokes. That much Eddie is sure of. It’s something he can’t decipher right now, but he realises with some surprise that he wants to know. Later. Eddie’s arms and legs are starting to sting and ache, and he knows his skin must be covered in tiny cuts and grazes from the gritty floor. The gritty… dirty… floor. Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to go over everything that just happened, knowing that dwelling on it will trigger a panic attack. He needs to wait until he’s home for that. He can have a break-down when he’s safely back in his apartment with his inhaler.

He stands up with a groan, the gun still clutched tightly in his hand, and he looks down at it as it begins to glow.

“No- don’t- not yet,” Eddie says in a clipped tone that he doesn’t recognise. The glowing immediately stops. _Oh,_ wait, was that his Meister authority? He’d seen some of the other students use the commanding power that Meisters have with their Weapon partners outside of class sometimes, just to mess with them, but he’d personally never had a strong enough soul connection to utilise it before. It seemed kind of immoral to him anyway. “Uh, sorry,” Eddie adds quickly, hoping he’ll have chance to explain all of this to Richie at some point, since he’s obviously not from his college, and he doesn’t seem to know much about Weapons, Meisters and demons at all. Or, it looks like he knows about as much as the rest of Derry does – which is not saying much.

Richie is quiet again, which is unnerving, and it makes Eddie feel a little guilty, but at least it gives him time to think.

The Kishin Egg is still floating in place gently where the demon died. Bobbing up and down slowly on an invisible wind. It’s an eerie sight and it makes Eddie’s skin crawl. They really need to get rid of it, but he’s never been on a real demon hunt before, and he’s never chatted to the other students, so he’s only ever read about the ‘after’ part of a hunt in his textbooks.

He really, really doesn’t want to touch it. (He _really, really_ doesn’t want to touch it at all.) Eddie shudders all over as he closes his eyes, but he still reaches out a shaky hand to grab the egg-like red soul out of the air.

It feels like soft squishy rubber. It makes Eddie want to gag again.

“This might feel a bit weird,” Eddie says carefully as he pushes a button on the gun that releases an empty cartridge in the handle – Demon Weapons don’t need to fire ammo – and he pushes the Kishin egg soul inside the gap.

 _“Hey- what are you do-”_ Richie starts, but cuts off dead as Eddie pushes the cartridge back into the gun. _“H-Holy shit,”_ he says breathily into Eddie’s mind.

Eddie’s cheeks colour immediately. “A-Are you okay?”

The Weapon glows again and Eddie lets it this time. It stretches up and forms a human shape before it fades away and reveals Richie, with his pale skin, dark curls and dark eyes. It’s a moment before Eddie realises that his hand is still holding onto Richie’s – now soft skin instead of metal – as if he hadn’t been one just holding onto the gun this whole time. Richie had been holding onto him too. Eddie stares at their clasped hands for a moment, noting that his hand feels as warm as his Weapon form did, and then lets go at the same time Richie does.

Eddie’s eyebrows draw together harshly as he suddenly realises something else about Richie; although there’s still blood and dirt on his shirt, and smeared across his face from where he wiped at his lip earlier, the deep cut is gone, the angry red mark on his cheek is gone, and the purple bruise over his eye has disappeared too.

Richie’s eyes open wide as he must be realising the pain has gone, and he’s touching his face and patting himself down in wonder.

“Well that’s fucking unfair,” Eddie huffs, gesturing to himself. He knows his hair is sticking up in every direction, there’s probably dirt and sticky old soda on his shirt, there are cuts and grazes on his bare arms and legs, and overall, he feels like death slightly warmed up. He must look like such a mess.

There is a sudden odd shift in Richie’s expression as he looks at him; something open and soft in his small smile that Eddie can’t decipher, and he finds himself wishing he could still feel Richie’s emotions to understand, and then it disappears as quickly as it came. A toothy grin replaces it. “Whatever that was, it felt amazing. Where can I get more?”

“Are you kidding? We nearly just _died_ getting that!”

Richie looks like he’s about to quip back with something else when his expression pinches, he holds up a hand and he doubles over to throw up at the side of the alley.

“Hey!” Eddie flinches back.

“Sorry,” Richie murmurs, wiping a hand over his mouth. “Stress response.”

Eddie’s trying to scowl but it keeps softening into something more like a wonky frown. “That’s disgusting.”

“Yeah.”

There’s another pause of silence and for some reason this time it feels like it’s tinged with awkwardness.

“You-”

“What-”

They say simultaneously.

Eddie gestures for Richie to go first.

“You’ve gotta tell me what the fuck just happened, Eds. I think I’m losing it. For real this time.”

“Okay, firstly, stop calling me Eds. My name is Eddie. That’s already short for Edward, it doesn’t need to be any shorter, alright? Secondly, it’s like- it’s kind of complicated.” He sighs. “How much do you know about Weapons, Meisters and demons?”

“I’ll be honest with you – absolutely nothing.”

“Right,” Eddie says, “then I’ll try to start at the beginning. You know that there are demons?”

“Yeah, even though everyone in Derry pretends they don’t exist. That’s why everyone’s so fucking ignorant in this town.”

“Good. Exactly! So, Derry is one of these small towns that don’t even acknowledge that there are demons out there. But they’re literally killing people all the time – eating their souls to fuel their own and have them hatch into an even worse demon- a much, much worse demon- called a Kishin.”

Richie chuckles. “A demon kitchen?”

“Kishin - Keesh-in,” Eddie sounds out with a huff.

“A quiche? In… where?”

“I swear to God, Richie.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he says with a grin, “please continue. So, the demon quiche is the big bad. Got ya.”

It should be gross and annoying that Richie’s stress responses appear to be split between puking and joking, but for some reason Eddie can’t stop finding it annoyingly endearing.

Eddie glares at him as if he’s the one causing this thought, and stands up to his full height, trying to seem important as he relays this important information (even though he’s still glaringly short against the tallness of Richie) but he winces as he puts too much of his weight on his right leg, and realises it must have took some of the impact of his fall earlier.

“Oh man, I feel kind of bad that I’m fine and you’re the one all busted up now,” Richie says with concern. “Although I’m a little mad that whatever magic that was didn’t heal up my fucked-up eyesight.”

“It’s not magic, you-” Eddie starts, but then remembers something. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pair of plastic glasses. He hears Richie’s gasp of delight as he reaches up (he has to stand on his tiptoes that’s so fucking embarrassing) and places them gently on his face. There’s still only one dim bulb lighting up the alleyway, but it’s enough for Eddie to finally see Richie’s dark eyes in all their magnified beauty, blinking owlishly at his closeness.

They stay like that for a moment and Eddie wonders if whatever weird thing is happening to his pulse is because of the adrenaline earlier. Maybe he’s going into shock. He hopes he doesn’t die of shock in an alleyway that he just killed a demon in.

“You found them for me after all.” Richie smiles. He makes a humming sound and reaches to pluck something out of Eddie’s hair, holding it between them as he says, “You saving this one for later, Eds?”

A soggy piece of popcorn is held between his fingers and Eddie recoils, brushes down his clothes and ruffles his hands through his hair.

“Ugh!” Eddie groans, and then winces again at the fresh level of hell that his energetic movements are doing to his exhausted limbs.

Richie’s grin lights up his whole face and Eddie flips him off angrily. But he can’t help but think how much the glasses suit him – it makes him go from tall and mysterious to lanky and dorky.

Richie nods his head as he says confidently, “New plan. It’s still dangerous out here, I’ll take you to wherever you wanna go and we’ll talk more there. You can tell me everything. Deal?”

Eddie finds himself nodding in agreement before he means to, before he’s even had a chance to think about it, utterly physically and mentally spent, and Richie beams back.

“Alright then! All aboard the Tozier express!” he says in another odd voice that Eddie guesses is supposed to be some kind of old-timey railway conductor. Richie turns away from him and points at his back. “All passengers ready to board, I say, all passengers ready to board. Toot toot.”

“You can’t make the sound of a whistle by just saying ‘toot’,” Eddie grumbles. “At least make the noise or something. And there’s no way I’m getting on your back.”

“Just get on, Spaghetti.”

“Would you- That’s not name my fucking name either. Jesus. Can you even hold me up, your arms look like, super skinny and weak.”

“I’m stronger than I look. And that weird thing you gave me made me feel amazing.”

“Mm. I’ll- I’ll explain that to you later.” Eddie bites his lip considering taking Richie up on his offer, knowing that they do need to get out of here and there’s no way he’ll be able to limp all the way back to the college in his condition. Wherever that is anyway. At least Richie will know the way.

“Won’t your parents wonder where you are?”

“Nah, they won’t even notice I’m not there.” There’s no emotion in his words, just stating the facts, and Eddie’s brow creases at the implication that he means so little. “You waiting for a real train or something? Just get on and lets go.”

“Okay, okay,” Eddie agrees with a small smile, as he readies himself to jump up. “Just don’t drop me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Join me on my tumblr [@Izupie](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/izupie/blog/izupie) if you want to yell at me about what the heck this was about  
> thanks for reading if you got this far~


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